Courtesan's Reflections
by Dance Boheme
Summary: A young courtesan finds herself at the Grand Imperial Ball, trapped betwixt art and a certain Grand Admiral. Thrawn, Tigellinus and the Imperial riffraff: a good show to be had?


_**A little piece I wrote based on a Courtesan at the Imperial Court. Nothing Star Wars related belongs to me, other that Rahoule and Jihana. I like her, I hope to use her again! This style of writing is new to me, I'm used to less character-oriented texts, but here's my whizz at it! Hope you enjoy!**_

Silver lighting twinkled overhead, casting deep shadowing on the floor beneath, figures in shimmering gowns made bolder by the masculine like light. I stood there waiting next to Tigellinus, a decoration he wore on his arm like the medals he bore on his chest. The artwork didn't amuse him, neither did the witty anecdotes from the other Imperial men, yet he made me wait there hanging onto his arm like a small petulant child, not daring to let me out of his sight for fear that I would run and leave him to look alone and unwanted by female attentions

I am a courtesan. It's a delightful job, and one that does not entail what most expect it to. I do not give myself to the men of the night, I have not yet found my buyer, my age has not come. Instead I smile and make polite conversation, I amuse and dazzle with my striking looks. I long for more. Truth, beauty, love and freedom. But most of all freedom. My life is not as severe as the poor, yet for all the jewels and dresses I am given, a piece of me inside dies knowing that for yet another night, I must push away my ill feeling and put on a show. Every day is a show, and the show must go on.

Rufaan, as he had told me to call him, grunted as the others and myself laughed at Zaarin's futile attempt at humour. It wasn't a particularly funny joke, more of a passing statement jabbed at a piece of erotic Zeltron art, a man and a woman draped luxuriously over a chaise longue, spectators painted as specks in the background. Irritated, Rufaan made his excuses and dragged me over to the bar. He hadn't really bothered talking to me, and hadn't asked my name, I had assumed that he had already been told it by my charge Sierter. Rufaan ordered a triple shot of an alcohol that I could smell from where I was stood, he downed it in one and then turned to me.

"Go."

I looked at him in bewilderment, I wasn't sure if he was annoyed at my presence or pitying me for my profession. I stood there dumbly, like a child again, though this time being told off.

"I said go. You've done your duties, and now I'm tired of you. I saw you looking at the art, why don't you just go and look at it now?"

I nodded eagerly and went up closer to him so I could speak.

"Thank you... Rufaan."

I inclined my head to show my gratitude but he grunted and signaled to the bartender for another drink. Hurriedly I made my way over to the art section again, away from the merriment of the dancing and the sombre feeling from the bar. The male Zeltron artist stood in the corner, the human patrons ignoring him largely, and when they did acknowledge him, they did so with a bitterness and distaste that I myself had expected, but didn't get. I pitied him, the uncomfortable look on his face wasn't entirely becoming, nor the natural feature that a zeltron usually wore. I made my way to him, I was well versed in art, it was a trait my job needed and one that I carried off successfully. On seeing me, the zeltron raised his eyebrows as if to suggest that I were to start an argument. I smiled slightly, the notion of a scene at a ball such as this would be outrageous.

"I noticed your piece entitled Danse Sensualo, an appropriate name I must agree!"

My words struck a chord within him, his hands fiddled in a nervous stance as words fumbled through his brain. My training was being put to use very efficiently here, and this mans small quivering movements told me that I should be less forward.

"Well they were dancing and it was..."

I intervened, somewhat rude of me, I know, but a shared sentence could be the path to a shared friendship with this man.

"Typical of Zeltron naming? Oh I do agree wholeheartedly. But the hesitance suggests this is not your passion. We both know that zeltrons aspire to be led by their passions. Why not yourself?"

The man froze, my curiosity had come out cold and hard, the truth taking no prisoners. A sigh of defeat left his lips and he turned to me and spoke earnestly.

"I'm an artist Madame. There is no money from my own aspirations and consequentially no food. The Galaxy is run by Humans, Humans who stereotype. I'm not the stereotypical Zeltron who is led by erotica into polygamy and art that derives itself from thus. I was trained in Mathematics. I... Art was a hobby, a hobby that got me where I am today. Humans like my art because it confirms a comfort in the back of your heads, that Zeltrons and other aliens are alike..."

He trailed off, his eyes wandering to behind me, the warlord Thrawn stood gazing at a sculpture within earshot. Perhaps he had been there for some time, it was difficult to tell but I wasn't giving up this easily.

"We're not all alike you know, humans. I wouldn't dream of thinking such things..."

The Zeltron snorted. His eyes rolled in time with the snort, his nostrils flaring.

"You say that and yet your introductory sentence was 'How appropriate' was it not?"

My cheeks flushed red. Perhaps I was like all the others.

"I only meant that..."

It was futile. The Zeltron had confirmed my worst fear that I was like the others, years of conditioning with the elite that I had tried so hard to dissuade had broken through. It was time for resignation from this conversation, but the Zeltron would not allow it.

"And yet you came to speak to me. You chose me out of the crowd because you pitied me, didn't you?"

I stood there nodding slowly. My training was lost on this man, I had read him wrongly.

"You pitied me because in me, you see yourself. The outcast. Is that correct?"

"It is." I stated simply.

He nodded, perhaps in approval or confirmation of his thoughts. Whichever it was, his aura towards me eased slightly and he offered me his arm.

"What better way to learn of the art than by it's author?"

"There is none other!" I beamed back at the Zeltron, I didn't know this mans name either, it hadn't been stipulated on the invitation slips, but it didn't matter. We had established mutual friendship, and that needed no names. He took me over to the sculpture that Warlord Thrawn had just been. He caressed it like an old lover as he told me of the techniques used. His speech entranced a small audience that collected behind me, Moffs and Admirals, their ladies in tow. We visited each and every sculpture and painting until he whisked me away to the side elegantly.

"The audience must muse on my work. Perhaps a potential buyer will save me from sin!" He joked, the tone of his voice was lighter now, his light feelings somehow lifting my own, the feeling was odd and giddy but I wasn't about to complain. Two Moff's were bickering by the statue, the elder of the two stormed his way towards me and the artist. He looked at me, "You ought to leave now..." but I stiffened. If this was another racial attack, I was going to defend the Zeltron. He got my meaning from my stance and laughed quietly to himself. "I will be fine, really!" the emphasis of the last word was in conjunction with him spinning me to face him.

"If you ever hear of an artist named Rahoule Ytres in Coruscant again, then come on down. I'll be waiting for you Madame..."

The Moff arrived quicker than had been expected, he was no more than 15 strides away from destroying the pleasant atmosphere.

"I'm Jihana Ruberry..." She said simply, smiling so wide her face dimpled in the cheeks. The Zeltron too grinned madly, then averted his attention to the enraged Moff. I stood near enough so as to hear the ensuing conversation. It was not a racial attack as I had so dumbly been led to believe. But a spar of egos, the Moff wanted the piece that the other man had also wanted. Both men were now arguing with the Rahoule over the piece, leaving their ladies behind to marvel at the sculpture. I smiled to myself, the court and it's futilities were based on dominance of the male ego. I sauntered over to a piece that Rahoule had shown me earlier, before I had learnt his name. Grey entwined with reds and blues to make purples and browns in a blocked out figure. On closer inspection, the mathematical side of him came out in this piece superbly. The colours whilst being smudged and messy had a neat contrived look to them, as if deliberate and planned out. I felt a presence beside me but chose to ignore it. The presence did not ignore me.

"The colouring seems deliberate."

I turned to look at the speaker. Thrawn, this would be interesting. He was said to be an avid collector of bizarre works, though I wasn't in a state to judge races after my near disastrous encounter with Rahoule, so I stayed tight lipped.

"I couldn't help but overhear your earlier conversation with Mr. Ytres. I had not known he was a mathematician, though I had guessed. His paintings are angular, almost contrived. Most interestingly he tries to assimilate himself to Zeltron culture, yet doesn't seem to quite succeed."

"I disagree" I stated, the words almost faltering in the presence of one so severe looking. "I think the wild fancies are very much the zeltron usual that one would suspect."

His right eyebrow raised as he cast his head downwards to look at me, he was almost expressionless, it made me shiver slightly. I liked to read people's faces, it gave me a comfort, like a bantha with a head dress.

He pointed his arm up to the painting, where the colours mixed to show the form of a naked woman.

"Most Zeltron art interestingly portrays women as curvaceous and somewhat burlesquer. Your friend Ytres however, shows them with childish figures, closer to the Zeltron anatomy, his figures look contrivingly placed and anatomised. It is as if he has studied the form and measurements. The colours relate to one another, a thing most Zeltrons do not usually bother with. Outlandish colouring seems a hereditary trait in the art of Zeltros, Ytres seems to backlash against it. He follows the principles, but not as successfully, it is as if he does not have time for the art. I have often pondered on this, and now, thanks to yourself, I know the answer. It is most interesting..."

I nodded in complete astonishment. My mouth open slightly causing Thrawn to smirk. The smirk betrayed arrogance, yet with a brilliant mind such as that, deserved arrogance.

"I must say, you know more of art than myself. I'm merely a fancier of sorts..." I admitted to him, it seemed as if I were at a confessional, I couldn't pretend to know something that I didn't in front of this man. As I said that, he smiled warmly at me, or as warmly as his features and cool disposition would allow.

"People are all different. However, a fancier of sorts still appreciates the art, and so I have no quarrel with you."

He turned towards the piece again, and then moved onto the piece next to it. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, propelling his body forward slightly in a military position. I looked around me, people danced at the far end of the room, and Rufaan was still sat at the bar on his own. I felt pity for him as well, I'd heard the terrible things he had done, but on a personal level he seemed to be approachable of sorts.

"You seem to empathise with varying creatures on the spectrum..."

Thrawn talked from the painting next to the one where I stood. I raised my eyebrows in a querying manner.

"You look around you and watch people. Not fleetingly either, in detail." He chuckled slightly as if to be admitting that he too did the same, "Your facial expressions, if you mind my impudence, also gave it away."

"I can't help it. It's a bad trait of mine." I chuckled too, emulating a serene personality whilst inside I lost my mind.

"I see the people dancing and think that I too should be merry like them, then I look to my partner who is so lost in himself that he..."

I stopped. I couldn't allow Thrawn to know my real position, Rufaan had forbade that anyone knew my job. My charge had stipulated carefully that the Court could not know my profession, and that Rufaan had payed extravagantly for the secrecy. Yet Thrawn seemed to catch on. My missing last words had cottoned on his own head, he had worked out the unfathomable. The others were inclined to believe that I was just an Outer Rim girl of good stock. Thrawn nodded to himself, as if he had found a piece to the puzzle that was sorely needed.

"Needs décor on his arm? Men of the court seem obliged to do the same as Tigellinus, I myself see no shame in it, though others are rife to."

I smiled in gratitude to Thrawn for not mentioning my profession. It was a noble thing to do, especially as I reflected on the distaste that was present as Thrawn uttered Rufaan's name. The men did not get on, professionally or otherwise. I could find myself trapped politically here, used as a pawn, though I did not think the Vice-Admiral's intentions were cruel. In the corner of my eye, Rufaan heaved himself up, and sauntered in my general direction. I made my excuses, my eyes lingering on Thrawn's pristine uniform a fraction of a second too long.

"You must go home girl!" Rufaan exclaimed in the merriment of alcohol, "I shall be the gentleman... And get you a speeder."

I smiled at him warmly. It was true, whilst he was very much drunk, the alcohol had a warming effect on his personality. The harsh features were subdued by an affixed smile, and his straight back slumped slightly with a casual air. He did indeed get me the speeder, and opened the door for me. I took a small flower from my hair and placed it in his pocket, doubtful that he would remember anything of tonight given his state.

The speeder took me off into the Coruscanti heavens, and I never saw Ytres again.


End file.
